Chapter 1088: Despicable Us (2).
The storm did not break with dawn.
Instead, the horizon bled gray, waves thrashing harder as if the sea itself recoiled from what was to come. The fleet loomed in its vastness—steel silhouettes bristling with weapons, their sirens wailing like the cries of titans stirring from sleep.
Cain stood at the center of the flagship’s deck, alone yet unshaken. Around him, bodies lay strewn across slick steel, soldiers cut down in arcs of blood and rain. Smoke poured from ruptured engines, flames licked the edges of shattered guns, and the entire ship groaned as though the sea pulled at its bones.
Susan’s smaller vessel circled dangerously close, her face pale beneath the strain, ribs bound tight but defiance etched into every line of her expression. She gripped the comm, voice breaking through static. "Cain... you’ve torn open their flank. But this isn’t done. The rest of the fleet—look."
Cain turned.
Beyond the storm veil, more ships cut through the waves, massive shadows with cannons angled forward. The maw-shaped prow of the lead vessel glowed faintly, charging again with murderous light.
Steve’s voice came sharp across the channel. "Cain, it’s worse than I thought. These aren’t just warships. They’re carrying platforms—launch bays, drones, automated turrets. They’ve turned the sea into a moving fortress."
Susan spat blood over the side, gripping the wheel until her knuckles split. "And you’re planning to topple it with one blade? You’re mad."
Cain dragged his weapon through the rain, each step leaving streaks of red against the steel. His voice was steady. "Madness doesn’t matter. Only the truth does."
Lightning split the sky. In the brief illumination, Susan saw the fleet’s formation tighten, ships angling to cut off every escape route. The sea itself felt smaller, trapped between walls of steel and flame.
The flagship trembled beneath Cain’s boots, metal screaming as its own engines tore apart. The crew that remained fought desperately to rally, rifles raised, grenades primed. Cain moved through them without hesitation. Every strike was final, every motion precise. He was not a man in that storm—he was inevitability given flesh.
Susan’s comm crackled again. "Cain! They’ve locked onto my position! If they fire, I’m gone before I even light another smoke."
Cain’s gaze lifted to the looming maw of the enemy vessel. Its glow had grown brighter, a sickly beacon against the storm. He whispered to himself, words carried by the rain:
"Then I’ll silence them before they can breathe."
He sprinted across the burning deck, leaping from twisted railing to twisted railing, the distance between ships narrowing as currents smashed their hulls together. The leap should have been impossible—too far, too wide—but Cain’s body moved with the storm, carried by a force greater than muscle. His boots struck the enemy deck, and alarms howled anew.
Gunfire erupted instantly. Bullets tore at his cloak, ricocheted against steel, chipped sparks from the edge of his blade. Cain carved his way through, each soldier falling in seconds, their screams lost to thunder.
From her vessel, Susan screamed his name, but her voice was drowned by artillery fire. She aimed the last of her mounted weapons, sending bursts into the mass of enemies converging on him, her hands trembling so violently the barrel shook. Pain consumed her body, but she refused to yield.
Steve’s voice cut in, panicked. "Cain, listen to me! That main cannon is at ninety percent charge. If it fires, there won’t even be ashes left. You’ve got less than a minute!"
Cain’s blade split a rifle clean in half, sparks blinding in the storm. He pressed forward, step by bloody step, toward the glowing maw at the ship’s core. Soldiers lunged, grenades burst around him, steel warped and screamed under the carnage.
Still he walked.
Every movement was steady, unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. The glow of the cannon brightened until it painted the rain crimson, a false dawn of destruction.
Susan fired again, her voice ragged. "Cain! Don’t you dare fall here!"
The blade in his hand pulsed with light—not reflection, but something deeper, older. The sea surged in answer, waves slamming against steel, lightning striking so close it blinded every eye on deck. Cain raised his sword, the storm bending around him.
His words were a vow, spoken to the sea, the sky, the silence itself:
"This ends now."
He drove his blade into the glowing maw.
The world erupted.
A shockwave tore across the deck, fire and light bursting outward in a tidal wave of annihilation. The main cannon shattered, molten shards flung into the storm. Flames consumed the vessel, its steel spine breaking under the force. The ship groaned, screamed, and began to sink, swallowed by the sea that had demanded its due.
Cain stood at the epicenter, cloaked in fire and rain, blade buried deep in the ruin. His body trembled but did not fall.
Susan’s vessel rocked violently from the blast, nearly capsizing. She clung to the rail, breath ragged, eyes wide. For a long moment, she thought she had lost him.
Then, through the smoke and fire, Cain stepped forward. His cloak was in tatters, his body streaked with blood and ash, but his eyes still burned with that unyielding fire.
Susan exhaled a laugh, broken and wet. "You’re impossible."
Steve’s voice came quieter now, awe replacing panic. "He’s... he’s still standing."
But the sea was not silent.
The other ships advanced, engines roaring, their silhouettes vast against the lightning. More maws began to glow, the storm reflecting in dozens of charging cannons.
Cain lifted his blade once more, the sea at his back, fire in his eyes.
"This is only the beginning."
The waves surged higher, crashing against the steel hulls like fists of the sea itself. Cain steadied his stance, rain coursing down his face in cold rivers. Susan wiped blood from her lips, her gaze never leaving him. The fleet’s cannons hummed louder, like a choir of executioners awaiting command.
His lips muttered under his breath,
"We really are the despicable ones."